


Without Wilting

by firbolging



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Background Nott/Yeza, Caleb Typical Fire and Self Loathing, Canon Typical References to Death and Violence, F/M, Getting Together, Happing Ending, Major Use of Flowers, Mild alcohol, Not AU yet, Nott & Caleb Widogast Friendship, Pining, Set From 76 Onwards, caleb pov, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 20:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20442362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firbolging/pseuds/firbolging
Summary: “You know, I don’t know much about the Menagerie Coast save for what you and Fjord have shared, but in the Empire most flowers have a particular meaning.”In which Caleb struggles to, and eventually figures out how to tell Jester everything.





	Without Wilting

**Author's Note:**

> this is the most self indulgent thing I've ever written so I hope you enjoy soft fic!

The door to Yasha’s bedroom had stayed mostly closed since her departure. Which was an odd way of phrasing her loss, Caleb knew, but it allowed for hope. And he was giving hope a fair chance. Where his own had grown, however, his dear little blue friend’s hope had begun to wane. Just when he did not think there was room for further resentment in his cold heart.

Why should her sweet heart be hardened? Could she not remain joyful forever? It did not seem fair that, in spite of her strength, it was her bones that bent for the state of the world rather than the rocks of the earth that shifted under her foot. But he was allowing hope. And if Jester had lost some of hers, he would lend her his surplus.

So, when he saw the door to Yasha’s room ajar, a slight flickering of yellow light from within, he approached.

Of course, he did not know for certain it was Jester in there. But if sentimentality was at play, it was a good guess. And there she was, on her knees, head bowed. If he knew her less, he might have mistaken it for a prayer. Her silence, though, her clenched fists and steady gaze betrayed her. This was not the way in which Jester worshipped.

Caleb was torn between leaving her be and attempting to alleviate some of her sorrow. Jester made the decision for him with a glance and a forced smile.

“Oh, hi,” she said, laughing breathlessly. “I was just looking at my painting.”

Caleb moved further into the room, closer to the flickering light of her lamp, and saw now what she was speaking of. Though his eyes were not trained to see beauty in the dark. With a controlled flourish, a few globules of light flew into the air and illuminated a wall of wildflowers.

“You painted this?” he asked.

“You’re surprised?”

“I’m impressed. But you impress me every day. So, no, I am not surprised. ”

Jester looked back towards her artwork as though she was trying out new eyes. Whatever they were searching for, it seemed the image bore no fruit.

Caleb lowered himself onto his haunches beside her and said, “It is very beautiful.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking back to reality. “Thank you.”

“I mean it, though, so detailed,” he leant a little closer and said, “I can see here there are sunflowers and over here irises. And probably a hidden dick somewhere.”

When he brought his gaze back to Jester he saw a welling in her eyes, a swelling of tears.

“I know you miss her,” he said.

There was a temptation to offer her solitude, to feel as though he was overstepping some boundary. But a smarter voice inside reminded him of Jester’s nature. Of her immovable urge to be surrounded at all times, to never be lonely.

So he would not let her be lonely.

Because he could not figure out how he would put an arm around her without causing further discomfort, he continued to speak instead, “You know, I don’t know much about the Menagerie Coast save for what you and Fjord have shared, but in the Empire most flowers have a particular meaning.”

“Whenever my mom got flowers, they were just the biggest and most beautiful. Men like to impress her with all their money. I don’t think they ever payed attention to the meaning.”

“Eh, it’s probably better that way. Without the meaning, you know. Who are we to bind such things by our strict rules?”

“It’s sort of nice in a way, though. Saying how you feel without saying it.”

“Or poetic coincidences like these,” he said, gesturing towards the wall.

With a shaking voice of mock severity, she asked, “Why? Is the wall trying to tell us something, Caleb?”

A small smile burst forth from him, a show of joy that could not be misinterpreted.

“Sunflowers are loyalty.”

“And Yasha is loyal to us,” she said firmly.

“I think so.”

Jester sniffed, but there was a new light in the eyes her tears fell from.

“But the irises,” he added quickly, “They are for friendship. For faith. For hope.”

“Then I’m happy I painted them.” She smiled and placed her palm to the picture. Then, she asked, “Is there something for, ‘I miss you?’”

“Zinnia.”

“What do they look like?”

“Do you have your sketchbook?”

“I can get it?”

“No, it’s fine. I have paper.”

He pulled out his spell book and, trying not to wince as he did so, tore out a blank page. With the cheapest ink his pockets had to offer, he scrawled a poor attempt at the flower. It was an odd looking thing with a bulbous centre and a crowding of petals. He thought she might like it.

“I am sorry,” he said, handing over the drawing. “I am not the artist you are.”

“Oh, Caleb! This is the cutest thing I have ever seen!”

“I cannot believe that.”

“Well, maybe not the cutest, but it’s totally up there. With Nugget and Sprinkles and your chin.” He smiled quickly, as though it was an obstacle to clear. Jester did not notice; her attention was stuck on the drawing. “I think I’ll paint these on her door. What colours are they?”

“Oh, all sorts. Bright usually. Pinks and reds. Yellows. Purples.”

She gasped, “I’m going to do all the colours then! All the ones I have paint for.”

“Maybe first we should find a better reference for this flower.”

“Nope. I’m going to paint it just the way you drew.”

“A terrible idea.”

Her giggle faded to a smile and they stared at one another for a little too long. It should have made him uneasy, but being close to her was soothing.

The way he felt with Nott. With Beauregard.

The sort of soothing you find with family.

“Caleb,” said Jester, thoughtfully, breaking their gaze. “Thank you for talking with me.”

He fumbled, “Oh, that’s okay. That is how friendship works, ja?” She wiped her nose on her long sleeve and smiled. “And you know, we will see her again. We have done the impossible before. I have no doubt that we will do it again.”

* * *

Jester watching him study was nothing new, but he had assumed she was tired of the activity by now.

“Hey, Caleb,” she said. “What’s this book about?”

“It’s about poisons.”

“The one Reani gave you?”

“Ja.”

“Is it good?”

He shrugged and said, “It is what it is. I’ll let you know if there’s any smut.”

“Can I sit with you while you read?”

“Could I stop you if I wanted to?”

“Of course.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, feigning consideration.

After a stretch of silence he said, “You can stay.”

She read over his shoulder for a while before boredom took hold of her and she slumped into his other desk chair. For a while, there was silence. But Jester had never been too comfortable with silence.

“Will you let me give you a tattoo?” she asked suddenly.

“Probably not.”

“I’ll make it pretty.”

“With a hidden dick, yeah?”

“No, no no,” she said with a grumble. “I mean, it would be funny, but I like you too much for that.”

“Just the captain tusktooth then?”

She laughed wickedly and he thought of how dear she was, how little he deserved her affections, and how grateful he should be to call her a friend. Only a truly terrible man would want for more.

Settling herself, she said, “Molly woke up with all those weird marks – those red eyes – all over him. But he made them beautiful with his tattoos.”

“He did. He was clever like that.”

“But you don’t want to cover your marks?”

He let his book fall closed (all pretence of reading long gone) and considered the offer. Now that he had caught her drift; her line of sight.

She wanted to heal his arms. The thing was, he’d covered them up for too long already. From necessity rather than an effort to move on. There was not any forgetting.

“I could just, like, cover you in cats. Or books. Or cats reading books. Or-”

“You can paint them if you like,” he said. “So long as it’s not permanent. It’s good to have a reminder or certain things.”

“Well, it’ll be pretty permanent, Caleb. You have to wash to get paint off you.”

He leaned across the table and spoke, as though sharing a secret, “I thought you were done with the stinky jokes.”

Closing the space between them even further, Jester slid her elbows forward and whispered, “You said you didn’t mind it.”

“I don’t.”

They were both half out of their chairs, close enough to count freckles. Caleb flushed as red as she was blue. She wanted to laugh at him; he could see it in the corner of her eyes and smile. But something was holding her back.

“Caleb,” she said. He slid back into his chair, but she did not move. “Why would you want to keep a reminder of what they did to you?”

“It’s part of a bigger story.”

“That you’re not going to tell me?”

She slumped back in her own chair with a face of disappointment and concern. A familiar, familial look he had not seen for some time.

“We should speak of nicer things,” he said. “I’ve just learnt about some cool new poisonous plants.”

* * *

Their revelry was so great, Yasha returned to them and another mission successfully completed on top of that, that only Caleb heard Jester’s grumble as the drinks were served.

“They forgot my milk.”

But nothing she said or did passed him by, unnoticed.

“Oh, that won’t do,” he murmured. “I’ll go and remind them.”

As he waded through the crowd and towards the bar, he felt someone from their table follow close behind him. Assumption led him to believe it was Nott all the way up to the counter. It wasn’t until he turned, prompted by a finger-poke in his side, that he realised it was Jester.

“Excuse me!” she cried. “I would like some milk please – thank you!”

The barmaid’s miserable expression shifted only a fraction, in indication that she’d heard. Slowly, painfully so, she finished wiping the glass in her hands before finally disappearing into the backroom.

As she did so, Jester called after, “If you find any chocolate could you melt that into the milk too!”

“You know, I was going to get it for you.”

“I know,” she said, smiling like she had a secret. “I didn’t want you to have to go alone.”

He scanned her face for any hint of a façade and found none.

“It is good to see you happy, Jester.”

“What are you talking about, Caleb? I’m always happy.”

“No you’re not.”

Jester pulled back an inch and her smile dropped just a little.

“But,” he said quickly. “You are happy now. And it’s good.”

“Well, you don’t seem as grumpy as usual.”

“I’m not.”

“No?”

“No. Like I said, it is good to see you happy.”

“Is there a flower for that?”

It was a joke, but he replied at once, “Yellow tulip. It means ‘there is sunshine in your smile’”

* * *

Nicodranas had not always been kind to them. But their prospects were turning ever-upwards. And when a moment of real peace showed itself, the Mighty Nein seized upon it and squeezed it for all it was worth. After all, who knew how long it would last?

Caleb scrawled the circle on the floor of their foyer and in the space of six seconds they were halfway across the continent.

Yeza and Luc greeted Nott – greeted Veth, with equal degrees of childlike excitement.

“Dad’s got a surprise for you,” said Luc.

“He does?” asked Nott, beaming with Veth’s smile. “What is it?”

Yeza sighed, “It was supposed to stay a surprise a little longer.”

He eyed up the rest of the Mighty Nein, all of whom were waiting in anticipation.

“I guess now’s as good a time as any,” said Yeza nervously. “I was just thinking, since Jester messaged to say you’d be staying for a few days, that this would be a good time for that vow renewal you talked about. You know, when you first got me out.”

Luc wriggled between them, stillness beyond his small capacity. Nott held him so tightly against her that she largely obscured his view.

“Now?” she whispered to Yeza. Luc tried to break free, but Nott’s grip only tightened. “I’m still not… you know.”

“I know.”

Jester let out a coo of delight, which the rest of them took as an indication to leave the Brenattos be. For a time, at least.

Once the evening arrived, Nott returned to the chateau and allowed her disguise to drop. Her goblin face betrayed weariness, but there were lines of joy between lines of exhaustion.

“You need a drink?” asked Caleb, watching her pull up a chair to join their beautifully adorned table.

The chateau was empty save for the Nein and a few staff members setting up the bar and stage for that night’s performance. Nott shook her head at the offer, but did help herself to a handful of the roast beef Beau had piled upon her plate.

“Oh, Nott,” said Jester. “I can get you your own serving. I told the kitchen to save you some.”

“It’s fine. I’ve kind of lost my appetite anyway,” said Beau, pushing her plate in front of Nott whose chin was slick with gravy and strings of fat. “How’d it go?”

Swallowing down quickly, she said, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t want a second wedding while you’re still a goblin,” said Jester.

“It doesn’t feel like I’ve earnt it yet,” said Nott.

“No, no, no, Nott!” Jester jumped from her seat and ran to fling her arms around Nott. “You deserve it. You deserve everything.”

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the rest of the table.

Caleb said, “She’s right, you know. You have absolutely earnt this. More than that, though, this is not something you have to earn anyway. I might not be an expert in these things, but my understanding of marriage is that it’s simply a promise of love and commitment between two people. That’s it.”

Jester pulled her head away from the crook and Nott’s neck and gave Caleb a small smile. He looked away immediately, trying to keep his complexion even.

“That sounds right to me,” said Beau. “And, you know, if anything, you’ve just become even more out of his league.”

* * *

Within the hour, Nott’s mind was made up; the ceremony would take place at sunset on the following day. Jester seized upon this news with loving talons.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! I love weddings! I’ve always wanted to go to one!” she babbled.

“You’ve never been to a wedding?” asked Fjord.

“Well, not a real wedding. Only the weddings I hosted for my dolls.”

“Before or after your drew dicks on their heads?” said Caleb.

“Probably after,” she said.

Caleb smiled into his mug of beer while Jester turned her attention back to Nott.

“So,” she began, suddenly all business. “We need to go dress shopping. Like, right now.”

“I’m going to be disguising myself. I can make myself wear whatever I want.”

Jester sank a little and said, “Oh, that’s right. Well I guess that’s pretty cool. Oh!” she cried, fingers tapping away excitedly at her own cheeks. “What about flowers? We can at least shop for flowers.”

“That’s true,” said Nott. “Although, I don’t know a lot about flowers. I just picked some from the riverside for our first wedding.”

Jester glanced down at the other end of the table, where Caduceus was watching, almost bemused, Yasha repeatedly beat Beau at arm-wrestling.

“We could ask Caduceus for advice,” she said.

Nott screwed up her nose, saying, “I think his thing is more, like, mushrooms and moss.”

“Right. Not super weddingy.”

“Not super,” said Fjord, picking up his own beer and joining Caduceus in audience.

Jester hummed to herself in thought for a moment before gasping, “Caleb! Caleb knows a lot about flowers!”

“He does?”

Caleb did not look up from his mug, but the eyes on him burnt.

“Oh, well, you know,” he said. “I read a lot.”

“Caleb knows everything,” said Nott, words ringing with pride.

“That’s not true,” he said.

“And he’s very modest.”

“Oh, he really is!” cooed Jester.

His ears were aflame as he said, “If I agree to help pick your flowers will you both stop talking about me?”

“No promises!” said Jester in a tinkling voice.

* * *

It was astounding what could be accomplished in the name of the Ruby of the Sea. And Jester insisted on using it. Every flower that Caleb requested was brought to the Chateau within a handful of hours, ready to put together. He was not the most artistic or dexterous, but Yasha was keen to help.

“I would have liked flowers at my wedding,” she said.

Caleb did not know what to say to this so he said nothing. Yasha seemed to appreciate the silence and they worked that way until their creations were finished.

Jester had taken it upon herself to lead the decorating efforts on the chateau below (all suggestions of a ceremony by the sea immediately shot down) and so Caleb was left to help Nott get ready.

“Ivy,” he said, placing it gently placing the wreath on her head. “Wedded love, friendship, fidelity, and affection.”

“And green.”

“And green indeed.”

“I was hoping not to be so green when we did this.”

“You won’t be green for much longer if I have anything to say about it. And we can lose the ivy if you like.”

“No. It’s good,” she said quietly. “I like that it has a meaning.”

“All your flowers have meaning. There is loveliness, beauty, dancing, and here is my favourite: stephanotis.”

“Sounds like a disease.”

“A little. But they look like stars.”

Nott smiled, teeth poking out in every direction, “And do they have a meaning?”

“The meaning is twofold. The first is happiness in marriage.”

“And the second?”

“A desire to travel,” he said, placing the bouquet in her green hands as they shimmered and turned to brown.

* * *

Once the ceremony gave way to revelry, Beauregard wasted no time in opening the wine. Two bottles finished off by herself, she asked Nott, “You gonna do that ‘toss the bouquet’ shit?”

“Tossing the bouquet? That can’t be a thing,” said Nott.

“Oh, is that, like, more of an Empire thing?” said Beau, looking to Caleb.

“No, they do that all the time in stories!” cried Jester. “It’s definitely a thing people do sometimes. You throw the bouquet and then whoever catches it will be the next one to get married!”

“Like, as a rule?” asked Yeza, looking almost concerned.

“No, it’s more superstition,” said Caleb.

“I’m totally catching it,” said Jester, beaming at each of them with wriggling eyebrows. “I’m gonna be such a beautiful bride, you guys.”

“Are we doing this now?” said Nott.

Jester cried, “Yes! Let’s do it now!”

In her haste to jump up, she almost tripped over Nugget, who had Luc pinned down and was drooling over his giggling face and fancy clothes.

Caleb decided to join his friends in their huddle, under no illusion that he had a chance at catching the thing even if he tried. Nott seemed to have forgotten that it was not a weapon she was tossing. With a warbled yell, she punted the bouquet over her shoulder and smacked Caduceus in the face. It bounced off of his nose and was caught by blue hands.

“Yes!” cried Jester with guttural delight. “I told you! I told you all!”

She waved the bouquet in victory, the odd petal falling free.

“Was that it? Is it done?” asked Nott.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” said Beau. “Should we drink more now?”

After drinking came dancing. For Nott and Yeza, for Luc, for Caduceus, for Beauregard, for Jester. Fjord and Yasha sat together in silence at the bar, arms crossed in an undeniable barrier from any invitation or insistence that they join the dance floor.

Caleb did not have any aversion to dancing, but he did not quite know how he would move his body without the structure of a partner in his arms. So he pulled out a book and tried to read. And as soon as he had begun, Jester held the bouquet out so it blocked all else from sight.

“What do they all mean, Caleb?”

Closing his book and, pocketing it, he replied, “Well, I don’t know them all, but they are mostly good luck in marriage, everlasting love, that sort of thing.”

“Which ones are which?” she asked, taking the seat beside him.

He took the bouquet and began to point at each flower in turn.

“The white hyacinth here is loveliness, while the blue is constancy. Calla Lilies are for beauty, Camellia for admiration.”

“What about these? The little purple ones?”

“Viscaria. It means ‘will you dance with me?’”

She gasped, “Caleb! I thought you’d never ask.”

“I wasn’t, I mean,” he fumbled, flushing. “Wait.”

Her wicked grin eased his rising panic.

“You are teasing me.”

A cackle escaped her.

“Alright then,” he said.

He set down the bouquet and held out his hands. Open and waiting, to do with whatever she wished. There was no trepidation. She would be only as rough with him as would make him smile. There were few places in this world, safer for him to stand, than with her.

The wickedness in her smile humbled as she placed her hands in his.

“Okay,” she said with a forced sigh, her smile still showing, “If you really want to.”

He allowed her to pull him towards the dance floor, to place one of his hands on her waist while the other stayed firmly in her clutches.

“I hope you don’t forget my name this time.”

“If I do then I will take myself off to the gutter to sleep.”

With a giggle she cried, “Oh no! Caleb, no! You’ve been smelling so nice recently.”

As they danced, there was a deep desire to entwine them both in ivy, starting at the hands and growing until they were obscured, entirely, by the green. But what was smooth to his skin, soothing on his scars, would surely be poisonous to her.

It would not do to dwell on that.

The ground would never allow such a thing to grow between them.

He knew he should be grateful for that beauty. But humility did not suit him. He was primed to strive for more than he deserved.

Then she let her head fall onto his chest. Gently. Sweetly. She tilted her chin and smiled up at him.

Which was the breaking point really.

* * *

Their return to Rosohna saw her return to his side. Predictable. Wonderful. Terrible. Too much to sort through. Too much for logic to diffuse.

Jester barged into his room, knocking gently on the door she’d thrown open as she passed it, and then kicking it shut behind her.

“Good morning!” she sang out. “Everybody has gone to the blacksmith. Do you want company while you read?”

He did not reply right away; he wasn’t sure he could. Instead he stayed perched and rigid on the edge of his bed like a gargoyle.

“You okay, Caleb?”

He had less strength in him than most, but he mustered just enough of the stuff to say, “I am not a good person.”

With a sigh, Jester hoisted herself up to sit on his desk.

“You say that a lot. I don’t believe it, you know,” she said.

“You think I’m lying?”

“No, I think maybe you’re just stupid.” He shot her an exasperated look. He had an inclination towards stupidity, he knew, but it was nothing compared to his inclination away from goodness. “I mean, no, I don’t mean that. You’re very clever, but sometimes, you know, you’re a little bit stupid.”

“Sometimes. A lot of the time even. But not about this. I think, maybe, it's better if you keep your distance.”

“And what happens if I get too close to you, Caleb? Will you, like, tear out my guts, and cut off my head, and steal all my rings for your spells?”

“No.”

“Then you’re probably not as bad as you think you are.”

Jester did not view the world through a narrow lens, he knew. But she took the grey of her paints and spread it across more of the picture than it deserved. Some things were irredeemable. Even the parts of the picture she was determined to make bright. The mix of colour would only make muck.

The more time they spent with one another, the more frequently she looked at him with some semblance of pride or respect, the deeper the scar would be when she pulled back. And she would pull back. It was only a matter of time before the worst of him came out. He had simply hoped to postpone the inevitable. To indulge himself in her belief that he had some good in him. At least until he grew strong enough to bear her disdain.

“I,” he began slowly, pausing to swallow hard. “I am afraid. I am afraid your opinion of me will change.”

Jester leapt off of the desk and said, “I don’t judge people, Caleb!”

“You will judge me. You will be right to.”

“You know, you can’t just tell me to stay away and then not tell me why. If you don’t want me to think badly of you then why are you always trying to tell me you’re bad? That’s stupid, Caleb! You have to admit that that’s stupid.”

She was right. She usually was.

In a timid voice, she asked, “Do you not trust me?”

Jester had convinced a good amount of intelligent people that her time with the Iron Shepherds had left her heart undamaged. It was not a matter of trust.

He knew she held secrets well. Not as well as Beau, but better than Nott certainly. She’d sent the letter. Or helped to. But she hadn’t known the full story. And now the natural concern she had for her mother had been fed by his past. His fault. His hidden truths.

Beauregard knew. Nott the Brave knew. There was no longer any denying that he and Jester were just as close.

“Sit down,” he said, staring right ahead. Anywhere but at her. “I will tell you a story.”

“A true one?”

“Unfortunately.”

In his peripheral he saw her movement and felt the bed shift beside him beneath her weight. Still, he did not look at her. Could not. Would not.

“You don’t have to tell me, you know,” she said.

It was then that he realised what had become of his breathing, of the white-knuckles upon his shaking knee.

“No, it is only fair that you know. For all the trouble my secrets might cause us. For your mother. Or even you yourself, being tied to me.”

“Caleb,” she said softly, reaching out for the white-knuckled hand and squeezing it in her own.

She did not let go.

He begun to speak, did not stop speaking for fear of his courage faltering. Eyes ahead. His hand in hers.

And she did not let go until he asked her to.

“I think it is best for me to be alone right now,” he said, voice croaky from use and heartache.

“Caleb, I-” she broke off.

She was crying. Her throat was thick with it. Were he a better man he would have offered her comfort. Instead, he let her leave.

Caleb did not fall into sleep for some time, but when he woke in the late morning, it was to the smell of paint wafting in from beneath his door. Upon opening to inspect, he found himself faced with a blinding array of images, still wet on the wood.

It must have taken hours to complete.

He couldn’t take it all in half as quickly as he’d have liked, his eyes darting all over. Each small piece of the larger whole was something they’d seen together, all of them. And they themselves were there. Every single person who had joined them, who had called them friend for a time, no matter how short. Even Keg was there and Jester had known her for a few minutes at most.

Now, the acknowledgement of being in love with Jester happened far later than the actual falling. It wasn’t that he was denying himself the feeling so much as he was denying the possibility of it. Not punishment, but an inability to comprehend himself alongside the notion of romantic love. Such things were for his past. Another person altogether, or so he sometimes felt.

That was the moment he acknowledged it.

* * *

A day or so later, she asked to keep him company once more. He had not expected this. He did not know what to do with it. With any of it.

So he swallowed it down.

“If you want to,” he said, desperate for her to stay.

She smiled and plopped down on his bed. When she pulled out her sketchbook, he turned back to his desk and pretended to continue to read.

The façade did not last long, on either of their parts. Within a minute or two, Caleb heard the sound of an object tossed aside onto his blankets along with a sigh from Jester.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, turning back.

“When we spoke the other day, you said something that worried me.”

He let out a cold laugh, “Just the one?”

“You want to change time? Like… more than the dodecahedron.”

“If I can.”

“The people here are good with time for sure. But they are also super good with people not dying. They just get born again. And you know, Caduceus died for a little bit once. And I brought him back. I could help you get your parents back. If that’s what you want?”

“I want to not have done it at all.”

“None if it? Like you want to undo everything that’s happened since?”

It was not that easy. Not anymore.

When he had begun to sow the seeds of his own discontent, he had not expected anything beautiful to blossom. Roots pierced deeper and time, no matter how much control he might dream of taking, was spinning itself into evermore intricate tapestries.

At his first taste of freedom, Caleb would have happily burnt a hole through space and time. But, to commit to the complicated, his desires must be simple. And his desires were no longer simple.

Time was a funny thing. There was no way to hold both the past and the present. Damage burst forth from one hand, in whichever direction he chose to damn.

“If there is a way,” he said softly. “I want to bend time. I do not want to break it.”

“Sounds tricky.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

He looked at her, expecting to see fear, disgust, or at the very least some distance. But she smiled at him. And it did not seem insincere.

Just when he thought he couldn’t love her more. Just when he thought he couldn’t deserve her less.

* * *

It was too much. He loved her too much. And he was running out of space to stuff it down. Every moment he spent in her presence was a tightrope walk, teetering on the edge of spilling.

So he did the only thing he could do. He distanced himself. He locked his door. He declined her company. He went for terribly long walks. Of course, he knew this was not sustainable, but the alternative was honesty and that did not come naturally. And he was under the false impression that this separation was only painful for him. But she caught him sneaking back into him room from the kitchen one night, she ran after him, she called his name.

“I’m sorry,” he said as sweetly as possible. “I can’t talk right now. I have - I have lots of reading to do.”

“Why do you keep avoiding me?”

He almost wanted to laugh. She did not dance around things. He should have known better. He had known better.

A new class of guilt joined the usual mix. Why did she have to look so broken?

“Caleb, are you upset with me?”

“With you? Never.”

“Never?”

“Maybe not never. But only once.”

His memory had not lost a second of that moment, of the mud in his beard, of the look on her face. But it did not feel real. Or at the very least, it didn’t feel important. Not anymore. Not as anything more than a chance to learn. To move on.

“I’m not upset with you now though,” he said.

“Then why don’t you want to hang out anymore?”

Ah.

There it was.

This was the sort of thing most people used the Zemnian language of flowers for. When words were too heavy to heave up. But she deserved his words. He owed it to her to try, to fix what he had not realised he’d been slowly breaking. It would not do to hide behind what he had no claim on, what was given meaning only by the fleeting fancy of society. A flower did not grow to speak for him. His tongue was his own, his mind his own and the consequences of the words either toyed with were upon his head alone.

"Come in," he said, voice cracking. 

"So I didn't do anything wrong?" she asked, following him into the bedroom.

"No. This is on me."

"You're not punishing yourself again right?"

The pain must have bled through onto his features because she was suddenly moving to meet him, to cradle his head in her gentle grasp.

"It's okay, Caleb," she said. "You can talk to me, you know?"

It was too much to handle, but the moment she let go, he knew, would be far more painful. Clarity of thought was illusive. Nothing was worse than being out of his own mind. Nothing was better than the soft skin of her palms on his cheeks. He did not remember love feeling like this the first time around and he wondered if there would ever be a time when it did not hurt as much to be near Jester as it did to be away from her.

“You know,” he breathed, “I cannot look at you right now.”

Her hands did not drop.

“I do know that, Caleb,” she said.

Soft and steady. Patient.

“So this is just to keep me from bolting, ja?” he said.

“Something like that.”

He nodded, eyes closed for fear of meeting hers.

“Are you going to talk to me now?” she asked.

A little less patient this time. A lot more teasing.

“I do not,” he broke off and swallowed, trying to rid his voice of its tremor. “I do not want to cause you any more trouble than I already have.”

“Caleb-”

“But I know,” he said firmly. “I know that I am causing you more trouble by staying silent. And I couldn’t live with myself if you thought, forever, that this distance between us was your fault. Because it’s my fault. It’s my fault.” He was grateful that she did not try to speak while he stopped for air. “I am quite... quite ridiculously in love with you. And I could not cope with it. And I made you feel as though you’d done something wrong. And I am so sorry.”

Still she said nothing. And his gratitude began to shift to fear.

“So now you understand, ja?” he pressed.

“A little.”

Her voice was small and, with a glance up from her chin to her nose, he saw tears were trickling down to a bitten down smile.

“I shouldn’t have told you. I should have dealt with it all better.”

A sound escaped her, a choked laugh stumbling over a choked sob. Every inch of his skin was pin pricked. Numbness swallowed him from head to toe. He could no longer feel her hands on his face, but he could see that she had not stepped back, had not dropped her hold.

“Jester,” he said, because no other words came to mind.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t want me to know. Why not?”

He had expected pity. Or mockery. Instead she offered woe. Instead she suffered. It was the worst possible outcome he could never have imagined.

“I am sorry.”

“That’s not an answer, Caleb.” She shook his head as though meaning to shake him of something deeper. “I mean, did you think I’d stop being your friend?”

“No.”

“Did you think I’d break your heart?”

“That’s not,” he fumbled. Then, with newfound strength, he said, “I wouldn’t ever put it on you to turn me down. I have had delusions of grandeur, of power. I have had no delusions that you would ever feel the same. But, we don't have to talk about this ever again. In fact, I would much rather we didn't.”

Through the numbness, he felt the warmth of her hands retreat, saw her take a single step backwards. Her eyes burned as she took him in, as though he was something entirely new.

After a moment, she said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“You know you’re saying that, but you don’t sound convinced,” he said.

“I just… does this mean we can be friends again?”

“We have always been friends.”

“But the way we were before? When you’d let me read over your shoulder? Or you’d look at my art and see things in it that I didn’t even realise I’d put in?”

“Of course.”

“Really?”

“I was only worried you would see through me. But I have no secrets left. I am an open book.”

“Open, but full of really tricky, hard to understand stuff.”

He gave her a weary glare and saw her giggle, if only slightly, in return.

* * *

Not all surrender yields itself to peace. This one though, this one was akin to throwing oneself at the sky, clambering desperately at empty space only to fall. In repetition. Before finally turning his gaze to the ground, to the endless expanse of the present.

“What are you researching all the time?” she asked one day.

“How to win this war. What do you think I’m researching?”

“But, is it just that or are you reading other stuff? Like… time bending stuff?”

He sighed, “No.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But isn’t that, like, your dream?”

He was past denying the shift in his ambition. He regretted even considering it, even causing her to fear that he might shatter her reality. If he could give Jester some peace of mind, there might be worth in his actions. He would do nothing to hurt her. He would do nothing to hurt any of them.

It was not a bad path, by any means. And if it could only go forwards, then so be it.

“My dream, if you want to word it like that, is to keep every one of us safe. We are a family and there is no one we could afford to lose.”

“Caleb.”

“I won’t let you down. I promise.”

Her big blue eyes were full of such pride. Her words, however, were full of mocking.

“What? You’re doing it for me? You don’t love everyone else?”

“I absolutely love everyone else. But they’re not here now.”

“I’m just your favourite, yeah?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. With a coy smile, she held out a hand ready to shake. He accepted, though not without suspicion.

“We’ll keep everyone safe together, okay?” she said. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

He made to pull back from the shake, but she squeezed hard and he stilled.

Her tone shifted as she added, “And you have to promise to keep yourself safe as well.”

“I will do my best.”

“Don’t forget how squishy you are.”

“I’ve gotten tougher.”

“Tougher, yeah, sure, but you know, still pretty fucking squishy, Caleb!”

He laughed and it was almost as if he had gone back in time, for a split second, to the simplicity of childhood.

* * *

Consumed by a foreign flame, Caleb died. Between that moment and the moment of waking, a multitude of things must have taken place.

Every muscle and bone was sore and certain parts of his skin felt blistered from burning. His lungs, though, they were taking in air. While his heart took in blood. And out. And in. And out. Alive.

He forced his eyes open.

All around him were blankets, their soft form visible even in the dim candlelight. He knew the ceiling above and the frame by his feet; this was his bedroom. It looked comfortable, though he felt little comfort.

Teeth clenched, failing to gate his groan of pain, Caleb moved to stand. It was then that he realised he was not alone in the room. Nott let out a cry of surprise before rushing forwards and shoving him back down.

“You’re awake!”

“What’s going on? Where are the others?” he asked.

He mistook the confusion on her face for mourning for a moment. Until he realised he had been speaking in Zemnian.

Trying again, in common, he said, “Is everyone else alright?”

“They’re fine.”

He let his head fall back onto his pillows.

“Did we win?” he said. “Or did we run?”

Lit from beneath by a flicker, her crooked features contorted into a horror story grimace. Beautifully unbridled joy.

“We won,” she said.

Caleb smiled as much as his aching jaw would allow. His mind could not quite fathom that danger had passed, given that his memory placed being charred as only a minute or so prior. A part of him tried to recall the feeling, the tangible suffering he deserved for his crimes. But it had been over pretty fast.

Nott moved beside him and he realised, too late, that she was whispering into wire.

Four times, in succession, she said, “He’s awake. You can reply to this message,” facing a different direction each time.

“You know,” began Caleb.

Nott turned expectantly.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

What he wanted was to be alone with his guilt, but there were people who cared about him, people who would want to see proof of life.

The door opened just an inch or so and Fjord’s head poked around it.

“Hello, Fjord,” said Caleb wearily.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, edging into the room. “There was a moment where we thought… well, let’s just say, it’s nice to see you awake.”

Caduceus and Yasha followed, but before either could say anything, Jester pushed between them and threw herself upon his bedside with a great cry of, “Caleb!”

He bolted upright in surprise and saw the signs of heavy crying all over her face.

“Yeah,” came Beau’s voice from the doorway, “She’s been pretty worried.” Then, with a shrug, she added, “We’ve all been worried.”

“We really thought you were dead, Caleb!” said Jester, high-pitched and rapid-fire.

“Well, technically I was.”

“Technically.”

“Yeah, technically.”

Caduceus’ soft voice said, “A certain flavour of dead. Not the permanent sort.”

Caleb looked between the clerics, one sobbing; one smiling.

“Who do I have to thank for my life?” he asked.

“It was Caduceus,” said Jester quickly.

“It was nothing really,” said Caduceus. “Beau killed the thing.”

Nott scoffed, “Yeah, but I definitely hurt it the most.”

The group fell into light-hearted reminiscence. Half complimenting one another, half insulting. Even Yasha postured a little. It was only Jester who refrained from joining in.

“Hey,” whispered Caleb, intending only for her to hear. “Are you alright? Did you get hurt?”

“No, I was fine. I turned myself into a mammoth. But, Caleb,” she broke off to sob. “You literally died!”

“I know. I am sorry. I broke my promise; I let you down.”

“No! I let you down.”

“How did you let me down?”

“I should have protected you better! I’m such a shitty healer.”

Caleb reached out to cup her face (an instinct he hadn’t even realised he’d acquired from her company) but at the sight of his raised arm, Jester climbed upon the bed and settled between his chest and elbow.

He froze beneath her weight and, from the crook of his shoulder, she asked, “Did I hurt you?”

“No, it feels nice,” he said honestly.

But eyes had turned to them and there were mumbling of excusing. Caleb was grateful for the dim light, hoping it would hide the worst of his blush.

“Let’s give them some privacy,” said Nott.

Which made the whole thing far worse. Beau said nothing as she left, but gave Caleb a knowing smile. If Jester didn’t already know what lay in his heart, he’d have panicked. And if Jester had not been too consumed with wetting Caleb’s bed shirt with her tears.

He leaned back against the bedframe and shifted so she might lie more comfortably beside him. All she did was shift right along with him, moving impossibly closer.

“You know, you’re not a shitty healer,” he said. “You’re very good at what you do. I’d have died a lot sooner without you there. And yes, you don’t always tend to my wounds, but you do tear monsters apart before they can hurt us and that’s pretty fucking cool.”

Her silence disarmed him. He felt compelled to fill it until she was smiling again. But, as she shook from the sobbing, Caleb knew it would be better for her to grieve. Whatever it was she was grieving. He suspected her perceived failure to save him was simply the last straw in a very heavy pile on her heart.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, running blistered fingers through her hair.

Without meaning to, he winced, disturbing her.

Lifting her head, she cried, “It does still hurt!” 

“Only my hands.”

“You tried to control the fire.”

“I remember.”

“Does it hurt here?” she asked, prodding his chest.

“Not as much.”

With a nod, she lay her palms flat on the same spot and a cool rush of energy flooded his body. The blisters had not vanished, but they were soothed.

“Better?” she asked.

“Much.”

She stared at him for a good while before flinging her arms around him once more. One of her horns knocked against his chin and clattered his teeth. He thought he heard a muffled apology and pressed her closer.

“It’s much better now,” he said.

He stopped himself from adding, “Don’t go,” but she settled into his arms without his begging.

* * *

Time pressed memories into their muscle. They learnt to fit together without knocking elbows or horns. When Jester read over his shoulder now, head always leaning against his own, it was always in the same way. It was a dance they had perfected. Any deviation was noted.

He could tell something was on her mind that day; her doodles in his margins were more like scribbles.

“Everything okay, Jester?”

She sighed, tossing her pen, and said, “I get why people use flowers to say how they feel.”

“Is there something you need to tell someone?” he asked. He felt her nod and so he closed his book. “You want to talk to me about it?” 

“Yeah. But you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Says who?”

“Says you.”

Caleb didn’t know what exactly she was referring to, but he knew when it became clear it would be like a punch in the gut.

“You remember how you said you were in love with me?”

And there it was. He was incredibly grateful she had decided to have whatever conversation this was with her head nestled so close to his neck, with eye contact impossible. He wondered if she had planned it that way.

“Ja,” he said. “I don’t forget things. But why would you want to talk about this?”

“Do you still?”

“Still not want to talk?”

“Love me.”

“Yes.”

“Like, you're in love with me?”

“Yes.”

He heard her swallow.

“You know,” she continued, “You said we shouldn’t talk about it, but I thought about it. A lot. Pretty much every day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“For causing you trouble.”

“Not all trouble is bad, you know? Sometimes you have to work through the hard stuff to get the best rewards.”

“Sometimes,” he agreed.

Jester lifted her head off his shoulder and placed two fingers beneath his chin, turning it gently. His own face burnt hot, but he suddenly found he did not want to look away.

“Caleb,” she said. Her voice was tentative, close to a whisper. But she both sounded and looked like she was brimming with joy. “I love you. Like, I’m really, really in love with you.”

“Oh," he stammered. "Really?"

“Yeah. Like a lot. Like super a lot.”

He let out a breathy laugh which she mimicked with gusto. It was then that he realised he should kiss her; could kiss her. But she beat him to it, seizing the back of his head by his hair and pressing their lips firmly together.

* * *

Once Caleb had healed enough, he fulfilled his promise and returned Nott to Veth. She tried to offer him trinkets and platinum as thanks, but he placed a kiss on her forehead and said, “You have already given me more than you’ll ever know. Just stay my friend.”

“Always.”

“Good.”

And it was easy to pretend that there were no problems left to solve, that things would remain still forever.

But eventually the settled dust was trodden into ground and suddenly they were out of ways to postpone the inevitable. Each and every one of them had a desire for a life outside of Rosohna. The only thing keeping them there was the desire to stay clumped in one homestead.

“We’ll see each other all the time,” said Jester. “Caleb can take me and Nott all over the place and I can send messages to set up dinners. We could go camping for a bit, like we used to. And you can all stay at my Mom’s whenever you want. And we’re all gonna go to the next Traveller con, obviously.”

Fjord coughed, “Jester, do you not remember what happened at the first one?”

Her laughter was almost lost on Caleb. His mind was stuck on something she’d said a moment beforehand.

They had not yet discussed where it was Caleb would settle. He had hoped, of course, that Jester would allow him to accompany her home. But he’d been prepared to ask Beauregard if she could find him a position in a library somewhere.

Nicodranas, though. With Veth just down the street. With Jester at his side.

Willpower did nothing to keep him from crying right then and there.

“It’s okay,” said Beau, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Like Jester said, we’re gonna see each other all the time.”

“I hope so,” he said.

“Definitely,” said Jester, reaching for his hand.

* * *

The goal had been to go back to the moment the rot began, to rebuild a perfect house or die trying. Convinced he would die trying, it was surreal to climb the stairs, still standing. The foundation of the house itself was rotten and nothing save for tearing down the walls, ripping off the roof, casting out those who sought shelter within, nothing would allow him to fix that.

So there were problems moving from room to room and a lot of thought before any changes were made. As long as he didn’t build up too far, too fast. It was a sturdy enough structure. It would never be a perfect home, he knew, but that did not mean there would never be light inside. It did not mean the flowers planted in window boxes would wither.

Neither maintenance nor gardening had ever appealed to him. But keeping a home got easier over time. Both in metaphor and reality. It faded into routine, like shaving, like washing, like keeping their kitchen stocked with sweet things.

On a particularly pleasant morning, Caleb and Jester sat together in a field just north of Nicodranas, a picnic of pastries spread out before them. At the moment he had a mouth full of cupcake, Jester plucked a nearby wildflower.

“What does this one mean?”

Voice thick with icing, he lied, “You know, I don’t know this one.”

She frowned at the little blue blossom and said, “I think… I think it means that today is going to be a really good day.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was determined to get this published before canon makes it obsolete/au 
> 
> please comment/kudos if you enjoyed I live for validation <3 thank you so much for reading


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